The Queen of Kansas
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: So, yes, Charlie Bradbury is probably going to die here, standing before the King of Hell, but she won't go down without a fight. She will buy her boys enough time to escape. And though she's terrified, she won't back down. Everyone is counting on her. *Awesome!Charlie, hurt!Charlie, kidnapped!boys, Charlie/Castiel team up, mild hurt!boys, late season 8*
1. Prologue: In the End

_**Author's Note:**_ _I love Charlie. I also love the family feels that results whenever Charlie is with the Winchesters. But, one thing that I really love is how kickass Charlie can be, especially when her boys need her. Hence, this story. There will be hurt!Charlie, badass!Charlie, hurt!boys and a Castiel/Charlie team up, something that I wish we had gotten more of in the show. Let's set this late season eight, after the second trial._

* * *

" _In your deepest pain_

 _In your weakest hour_

 _In your darkest night_

 _You are lovely."_

— _Icon For Hire, "The Grey"_

* * *

If she has to look back and pinpoint she knew that she was going to die, it was probably the moment she decided to step into the King of Hell's lair and serve as distraction. Or maybe, it was the moment she agreed to go along with Castiel's plan to rescue to Winchesters. Or perhaps, if she really thought about it, it was the moment she first allowed herself to think she could do this—that she could be a hero.

"Oh, you poor little lost lamb," Crowley chuckles darkly as he saunters towards her. "You really have no idea what is going on do you?"

But Charlie does know. She agreed to do this—to save her boys—fully knowing what could happen to her as a result. Torture, death—she signed on for it all.

Because that's what heroes do, right? They put themselves on the line to save those they care about?

"You're going to lose." She tells him, summoning up her inner warrior Queen and smiling smugly at him.

"Really now?" He arches an eyebrow.

"Really." She echoes, clasping her hands together, trying not to let her nerves show. She's used all her holy water and one difficult to defeat demon destroyed her only weapon.

All she has left are her wits and even those won't be enough.

Not to ensure they all make it out alive. She can buy enough time for Sam and Dean, but she . . . she's going to die here.

"You don't seem to understand the situation you're in." The King of Hell growls at her. "You're alone. You will die, painfully." He eyes her suspiciously. "Why aren't you scared?"

She is scared.

She's fucking terrified.

It's not like she wants to die. She wants to live her life—be Queen with her friends, tease Dean about the Supernatural books, and geek out with Sam over the latest gadget. But she's grown up idolizing characters that made the right choice—the noble choice—and though every fiber of her being is screaming at her to run away, to save herself, she stays her ground.

Because, at the end of the day, she loves her boys and she will die for them if that's what it takes.

"Bring it on." She smiles at Crowley.

It won't be much, but she'll try to fight him. She'll lose, but she'll do her best to hold him off.

She'll buy Castiel enough time to save the boys.

It will be, after all, the last thing she'll ever do.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Short prologue, but I hope your interest is piqued! This story will be told in flashbacks leading up to this moment. I hope you guys will enjoy this tense, fun, little ride! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 1: Beginnings

_**Author's Note:**_ _Happy New Year! I hope 2016 treats all of you well. Thank you all so much for all the kind reviews. I'm glad you all are excited to see what Charlie has in store for her in this story. Please enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

" _It's a lot easier to say when something ended rather than when it began. Most of us can recognize the end from a mile away, but the beginning always slips up on us, lulling us into thinking what we're living through is yet another moment, in yet another day."_

― _Steve Yarbrough_

* * *

— _One week ago_

"But if Her Majesty would just listen to the trade I am proposing."

Charlie narrows her gaze, glaring at the pompous ambassador from the Shadow Orcs. Really, she doesn't enjoy the possibility of going into battle—too many late nights spent pouring over maps and troop numbers—but she is also a Queen who will not be forced into unfair agreements.

Upon her throne, she sighs somewhat, "I have listened. You have failed to make the agreement fair."

The Orc stammers, taken aback, "W-what?"

"You think you can trick me into giving you some territory in exchange for a relic?" She scoffs as she rises from her throne, motioning for her attendants. "I am not a fool, Ambassador. You may take your leave now."

"So be it!" The ambassador growls. "Let us do battle! Death to the usurper!"

"Guards." She inclines her head and soon, the orc has been dragged out of her tent.

"Your Highness?" One of her Ladies-in-Waiting pokes her head in, meeting the Queen's gaze. "Are you ready for the next appointment?"

Charlie nods and goes to sit upon her throne, adjusting her dress. The fabric is light material, perfect for a warm sunny day, but she wishes that she could be back in her pants. Still, today she has to do her duties as Queen—royal audiences included!—and if that means uncomfortably sitting in a dress, so be it.

"Send them in."

The young woman curtsies, "As you wish."

She's resting her eyes for a few moments when she hears the familiar timbre of his voice, "Your Majesty."

"Dean!" She squeals in delight, very unladylike, as she practically throws herself out of her throne and wraps her arms around him.

"Easy!" Dean staggers back from the sheer force of her, but he's laughing in her ear and Charlie can't help but beam. "Guess you missed me, huh?"

"Did not." She playfully punches him in the arm as she breaks away from his embrace. Then, seeing the widened gaze of her Lady-in-Waiting, she quickly returns to her throne and composes herself, wondering if Dean will play along. He's dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but he's bowing before her now.

"Your Majesty, I came to make a request." He smirks at her.

"Very well," She tries to keep the smile off of her lips, but she's failing miserably, "What is your request?"

Dean's expression darkens and instantly, Charlie finds herself rising from her throne.

"It's nothing bad," He assures her quickly, "It's just . . . Sam is sick."

The redhead frowns, grimacing at the pained expression gracing the older Winchester's face.

"Sick?" She echoes. "What do you need me to do?"

"Come and visit for a bit?" He inquires and she nods immediately.

"Of course," She comes to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You didn't even need to ask."

He presses a quick kiss to the top of her forehead and she soaks it up—she's missed this, having someone care for her, to support her. Sure, she had her friends here at LARP and at work, but none of them really knew who she was, not like Dean and Sam. She has dark secrets in her past and the boys had been the only ones brave enough to face them with her.

"We break at five, but if you need me to leave now—" She can make up some excuse. She is the Queen, after all, she can think of something!

"No, don't worry about that, Charlie." He tells her. Then, with a smirk, he offers his arm, "Can I escort you around the Kingdom, Your Highness?"

She laughs and takes his arm, "You love this. Being a knight."

"No." He denies half-heartedly.

"You totally do."

He thinks about it more a moment, "Well, maybe a little bit."

"Let's go then, Sir Knight."

And arm in arm, they head outside.

* * *

"Charlie, what a surprise."

Sam looks like crap and that's Charlie being nice. The youngest Winchester's skin is ashen, except for his cheeks, which are bright red from fever. His forehead is damp with sweat and as he shakily rises up from the table to hug her, she can't help but notice how unsteady he is on his feet.

"Hey, Sam." She plasters on her brightest smile, trying not to let her worry show. She pulls him into her arms, marveling again at just how tall he is, and savors the moment.

She hadn't realized she'd been so lonely.

"How's everything?" Sam sits down and she follows suit. The table is piled high with books and texts in a variety of languages and from different eras. The one thing Charlie can make out is the drawings of what looks like a stone tablet of some sort.

"Good," She replies. "How are you?"

"Sick." He answers, deadpan.

"I noticed."

He actually laughs at that, which she counts as win, until that laugh dissolves in a cough that seems to shake his entire body.

"Sam—"

"M'fine." He manages to say as the cough tears through him. A small eternity later, it's finally over. Her concern must be showing because he flashes her a shaky grin and lies, "Really, it's okay."

She knows it's not.

But she also knows there's nothing she can do for him—until they found the third trial, Sam would continue to be ill—and so she forces herself to grin and nod her head. She has a role to play in this all too, after all.

"I brought you something." She pulls out her bag and shakes it.

Sam instantly turns into a little kid, his face excited and his eyes sparkling with curiosity, "What is it?"

Slowly, with much showmanship, she pulls out the third book of _Game of Thrones_ and Sam beams.

"Dean told me you hadn't been to the library in awhile so I'll let you borrow this," She winks. "Don't bend the pages.

But Sam is too busy reading to respond.

Charlie just laughs.

* * *

That night, she lies on the surprisingly comfy guest bedroom mattress and pulls out her laptop. Connecting into the bunker's Wi-Fi—she'd have to remind Dean to pick a stronger Wi-Fi password; something better than 'pie123'—she opens her email.

A few LARP-ing emails, a new schedule from work, but overall nothing important. She isn't really sure how she feels bout that. She's done her best to try and make friends, but it's difficult when she isn't able to truly be herself. She's living under a fake identity anyways, with documents that she herself had forged. It's kind of hard to get people to trust you fully when you kept feeding them lies.

She is grateful for Sam and Dean, of course. Their family to her, two older brothers that she never even knew that she wanted. Of course, now that they are in her life, she's eternally grateful.

Without them, she'd probably just been a shell of herself, a drifter who tried to fill the void of loneliness with hacking and online MMOs.

Funny, how so much had changed the moment the two of them had come barreling into her life.

A soft knock at the door interrupts her thoughts and she calls out, "Yeah?"

Dean's there, in the open doorway, and he runs a hand through his hair.

"What's up, Dean?" She sits up on the bed and waits for him to start to speak.

"I just wanted to say thanks," Dean tells her quietly. "For you know, coming."

"No problem, Dean."

She will always come for them; she hopes they both know that.

For the Winchesters, there is nothing that she's not prepared to do for them.

"Goodnight, Charlie."

She grins, "Goodnight, Dean."

With that, he closes her bedroom door.

* * *

— _One week later_

Dying really hurts.

It's funny how much it actually hurts. It's not like anything described in her books or show in movies. There's no grand farewell, where you make amends with your best friend or family member. There's no blissful fading away.

Dying hurts and it's cold and Charlie can't move.

Her hand is covered in blood and as her eyes slowly drift around the room, she sees more blood.

"S'my blood." She whispers through cracked and bleeding lips. "S'lot of my blood."

She doesn't remember what happened to Crowley.

She's not sure if she bought Sam and Dean enough time to get away.

She's shivering, in a pool of her own blood, and she's dying and it fucking hurts.

But then, it doesn't hurt anymore.

And she knows she's not supposed to close her eyes in situations like these, but's she's exhausted and all she needs is a few moments of rest.

Just for a minute.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Next chapter, family feels and Castiel shows up with a grave warning because, well, he's Castiel and that's what he does. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


	3. Chapter 2: Relative Normalcy

_**Author's Note:**_ _I really miss Charlie a lot on the show. I have hopes, slim though they may be, that she will come back. Until then, fan fiction will have to suffice! Please enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

" _I'm suffering, I'm bleeding, on my knees_

 _Who's going to save me?"_

— _Skillet, "Fingernails"_

* * *

— _Now_

Even through the haze of blood loss and the fog of drowsiness, Charlie knows she's lost too much blood to go to sleep now. Who knows how much time she's wasted just lying here. She has to get up, get out and get help. If she could form a coherent thought, she'd pray to Castiel to come and rescue her, like some damsel in distress, a role she didn't relish playing, but hey, dying kind of sucks too, so she's willing to make some concessions.

She forces her eyes open first and the dark warehouse seems to spin around in her field of vision, disorienting her more. Her brain, for some reason, isn't sending the right signals to her arms so all Charlie can really do is roll herself over from her stomach onto her back.

Blinding pain consumes her stomach—her bleeding stomach, she realizes now—as it accidently comes into contact with her elbow that she stupidly jabbed it into. Tears form in her eyes and she just wants to curl up in the fetal position and wait for help, but she can't take the risk that she won't bleed out. She knows some first aid—basic, of course, very basic—and she's sure that if she does stay here—in Crowley's evil lair—she will die for sure. Better to lose some more blood getting out than risk the King of Hell returning.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she manages to get herself in a seated position. Sweat rolls down her face as the pain starts to steal her breath away. She's exhausted and she hasn't even started walking yet. It's going to get worse before it gets better and so, gritting her teeth, she launches herself upright, swaying, but still standing.

If she can just get outside, hide behind a bush or a tree, she can wait for help. She'll actually have a fighting chance of—

"Going somewhere, sweetheart?"

Charlie's stomach drops as she recognizes that voice all too well. She cranes her head to see Crowley, bleeding and bruised, but in much better shape than her, with a sword in his hand.

He smirks, "I thought we could start round two."

So much for an easy escape.

* * *

— _Five days ago_

Sam and Dean are having yet another one of their silent Winchester arguments. It took Charlie a few hours to catch on, of course, but the way the two of them could communicate with a glance—or in this case, disagree—always astounded her. The two of them are more in tune with each other than twins and they probably care about each other even more.

It makes her feel lucky to be a part of their inner circle, part of their makeshift family. Sure, dealing with supernatural creatures that wanted to kill people isn't exactly a perk, but for a loner like her, always searching for that desperate connection to keep herself from losing her sanity, she is more than willing to accept the two boys fully.

"So," She doesn't even look up from the magazine she's pursuing, "What are you two arguing about?"

The two brothers blink at her, wide eyed and somewhat astonished.

And yeah, maybe learning how to read the two of them is a bit of a perk.

She smirks, "Guys, you're not as subtle as you two think." She places the magazine down with a flourish and then stares at the two of them for a few seconds, waiting for them to explain the situation.

They do not.

Sighing, she tries yet again, "C'mon, what's going on?" She doesn't want to force them to reveal anything they don't want to willingly talk to her about, but she'll admit, she's worried about them.

Sam's sick, that's an understatement, suffering from some supernatural illness that has no cure. He has to go through the eye of the storm to get better and that's if he doesn't die first, a thought that terrifies her. Life without Sam . . . she couldn't even process it. She refuses to process it. Sam will find a way through this and he'll live and she'll be there, to discuss fandoms with him and tease him about the Supernatural books.

Dean's got bags under his eyes, he's been staying up late, worrying about everything that could possibly go wrong with the Trials and while Charlie can't blame him—she's worried too—she knows he's this close to burning himself out. He needs to get to bed and sleep and now that she thinks about it, eat. He's been so busy fussing over Sam and getting the youngest Winchester to eat that she hasn't seen him really take a bite.

The two of them, they're falling apart at the seams, but they're her boys and she will do her best to try and fix things.

"There's a hunt—" Sam begins softly, gaze downcast.

"It's nothing." Dean interjects sharply, voice rising a bit in frustration.

"It's something," Sam insists sharply, "Something that's killing people and it's only twenty miles from here—"

"Out of the question, Sam! You can't fire your gun straight—"

"I'm not saying I have to go! You can take Castiel or Garth and go—"

"I'm not leaving you, Sam, end of discussion!"

"So, what?" Sam retorts, words dripping with bitterness. "You'll just let people continue to die just to sit here and watch me cough all day?"

"Okay," Charlie interrupts, trying to soothe the riled brothers. She holds her hands out, placating, trying to calm them somewhat. "Let's just take a breath here."

But it's clear that now the argument is in full swing, that there's no backing down for either of the brothers.

"I'm sick, Dean," Sam tells his brother, glaring somewhat at him. "And I'm not going to get better, not until we find the third trial and who knows when that will be—"

"I know that, Sam!"

"—and if you just stay here, people are going to die."

"I can watch Sam." Charlie feels compelled to say, but the moment it's out of her mouth, she knows it's true. Smiling, she meets Dean's perplexed expression. "I mean I may act like a teenager, but I'm actually a fully functioning adult. Surprising, I know, but hey, I think I can keep an eye on him." She winks. Then, glancing at Sam she adds, "What do you say? We can actually discuss the book version of _Game of Thrones_ in peace."

Sam chuckles, though it soon dissolves into a wet, hacking cough that seems to rattle the younger brother's entire brother. Then, when it passes, a small eternity later, Charlie can see the red dots on his lips.

Blood.

Sam is coughing up blood.

She knows, of course, that coughing up blood is serious. Like go directly to the hospital serious. Yet, she also is aware that that isn't an option for Sam so she does her best not to appear rattled and plasters a shaky grin on her lips.

"So?" She tries again. "What do you say?"

Dean considers this for a moment and she's sure a million worst case scenarios are running around in his mind right now. She knows how he feels about leaving Sam when he's sick like this, but she also understands how other people—innocent civilians—might need Dean more.

"Okay," Dean sighs, though he seems grieved by his choice. "Fine. Charlie will be in charge. I'll have Cas go with me but if anything happens—"

"We'll call." The redhead assures him quickly. "I promise.

Dean just glowers at her, "You better."

* * *

If Charlie were straight, she'd definitely fall head over heels for Castiel.

The angel possesses the most beautiful cerulean eyes that the redhead has ever seen and when he laughs with Sam, his smile seems to light up the whole room. She hasn't met him yet—officially; she knows about him from the books—but from what she's heard from the boys, he seems like a dependable, loyal friend.

It's funny how much her life has changed in just a year. A year ago, she was working for Dick Roman, blissfully unaware of the creatures that went bump in the night or that angels and demons were real. Now, here she is, too scared to go talk to an angel as her friend prepares to go out on a hunt to kill a witch.

"Charlie," Sam waves her over, raising his eyebrow a bit as she sees her creepily staring at Castiel from around the corner of the room. "Come here and meet Cas."

Shakily, she mechanically walks over to him and tries not to be too awkward as she greets him.

"You're the Queen." Castiel's voice is deeper than she imagined, but Charlie kind of thinks it suits him. She can picture him smiting a demon with that deep voice.

"Uh, yeah," Charlie shrugs, then quickly adding, "I mean, not a real Queen, but um, a pretend Queen, but it's not really pretend, like in a childish way, it's more like—"

She's really screwing this up.

"But you are the Queen of Kansas, are you not?" The angel presses. "Sam mentioned you ruled a realm in Kansas."

Over the angel's shoulder, Sam mouths for Charlie just to go with it so she smiles and answers, "Yeah, I guess I am the Queen of Kansas, in a way."

Dean appears with a duffel bag. He actually slept last night, retiring to his room after a long, behind closed doors talk with Sam and though it killed Charlie not to know what they said to each other, she respected their privacy more.

"Okay," Dean faces Charlie who straightens up in attention. "So, we'll be done two, three days max. If anything happens, call. If you can't get through, pray to Cas. He'll be able to get us here if you need us—"

"We'll be fine, Dean." Charlie feels compelled to say. "Just be safe."

"Yeah," Sam echoes. "Keep your eye on the hunt. Don't worry about us."

It's probably as mushy as the two of them will get with her and Castiel around.

"Got it."

"Ready then?" Castiel offers his hand to Dean, who grimaces somewhat. He hates travelling via angelic messenger, but it's the fastest way and it's not like he can just take the car and leave it should Castiel need to transport him back.

Dean meets Charlie's gaze and places a warm hand on her shoulder and asks quietly, "Are you sure about this?"

Charlie beams, "Don't worry, I've got this."

Dean nods and then, in a flutter of wings, he and Cas are gone.

* * *

In hindsight, Charlie should've known something would've gone wrong.

Because it's the Winchesters.

Because, as they both have told her over and over again, Winchesters have shit luck and if anything can go wrong, it will go wrong.

So, a day later, when Castiel shows up, with a dejected expression and a bloody trench coat all Charlie can manage to ask is, "Where's Dean?"

Tears spring to her eyes of their own accord and her voice is thick with grief and she knows, of course she knows that Dean is either captured or killed and neither situation is ideal.

"He's been taken by Crowley."

Charlie doesn't believe in showing weakness. Ever since she lost her parents, she guarded her heart and stayed away from other people. She didn't believe in trusting others, in opening up and having faith that the other person would reciprocate. Dean helped change that. She trusted in him, just like he did in her.

And she has to tell Sam.

Oh God, she has to tell Sam and it will break him.

"Charlie," Castiel meets her gaze, fire blazing in those blue orbs, "We'll get him back."

But Charlie can calculate the odds in her head, the percent of him coming back alive, let alone unhurt, and it's bad, really bad, and this is why she didn't trust other people, why she avoided people, because they could hurt her, they could break her, shatter her completely—

"Charlie?" Sam stands in the doorway, bewildered by her teary expression. "What is it? What's wrong?"

All she can do is cry.

And that is enough for Sam to realize what's happened.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _We're picking up speed! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


	4. Chapter 3: Complications

_**Author's Note: Trigger warning for mild depictions of torture.**_ _If this bothers you please skip over the present day section of this story. I'm so pleased to see that I'm not the only hurt!Charlie fan out there (honestly, I'm surprised more people haven't written stuff) so I hope you all enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

" _If you feel lost, disappointed, hesitant, or weak, return to yourself, to who you are, here and now and when you get there, you will discover yourself, like a lotus flower in full bloom, even in a muddy pond, beautiful and strong."_

― _Masaru Emoto_

* * *

— _Then_

Charlie feels numb.

She'd spent most of the day alternating between crying and trying to think of something helpful and now, as she sits at the kitchen table, she can't really feel anything. Her emotions are locked behind a precariously built wall that might crumble should she think too hard about Dean.

God, Dean.

Her eyes burn as new tears prick her gaze and silently chiding herself, she rubs her eyes raw with her hand, trying to stop the flow of them. She isn't some child who can just curl up into a ball and wait for someone to fix things. Sam is sick, too sick to save Dean, which means it falls to her to think of some ingenious plan and rescue the eldest Winchester before it's too late.

"Charlie." Castiel's deep voice startles the redhead out of her reverie and she nearly jumps.

"Okay, you really need to make a noise before you just sneak up on someone." She hisses through clenched teeth, a hand on her chest trying to calm her wildly beating heart.

"My apologies." The angel doesn't sit but chooses to stare at her with those wide cerulean eyes that seem to pierce the very depth of her soul.

Embarrassed, she glances away and shakily rises from the table. Clearing her throat, she tells him, "I've been trying to think of a way to save Dean." She runs a hand through her tangled hair and huffs out a dark chuckles as she admits, "I've got nothing."

"You need to rest." Castiel tells her softly, stepping towards her. "A lack of sleep will lead to nothing but confusion."

Funny, she thinks that if he weren't an angel, Castiel would be a good fortuneteller. Or maybe even the person who invents what to put in fortune cookies. He has the perfect mix of cryptic but helpful going for him and though she isn't exactly sure that rest is exactly helpful at the moment, he manages to convey it with such meaning that it gives her pause.

"Charlie." He places a warm hand on her shoulder and he smiles at her, warm, reassuring.

So, this is why there were so many fangirls on the Internet shipping Dean with Castiel. She could see it now. The way his eyes bore into her, intense and yet filled with a profound feeling that she couldn't quite describe. Concern? Fear? Longing? But it's clear to her that right now his only focus is on her and it's very intense. She's never had people care for before.

Not like this.

Not like Sam and Dean.

Her life before them was filled with death, grief and a series of identities that she had long left behind her. Don't trust anyone. Don't let me anyone get close. Just focus on you and only you. Other people will only drag you down. These were the credos she had learned to follow and they had kept her safe. With no one by her side, she was able to move freely without fear of hurting someone or being hurt in return.

But now . . . now, she's doing the one thing she swore she would never do again—crying over someone she cares about. She's in danger of breaking completely, she knows that. If she loses Dean, if she loses Sam—there will be no coming back for her. She will shut off her emotions and go through life like a robot, numb to real joy but safe from real pain.

A dark part of her whispers for her to leave. Just pack up her things and go before it's too late, before she can't turn back, but it's too late for that. She let her walls down and Sam and Dean wormed their ways in. Whatever happens, she has to see this till the end.

No matter what happens to her.

"I can't sleep." She tells the angel softly, placing her hand on top of his. "I have to figure something out."

"You are exhausted—" The angel protests.

"I have to go," She lowers her voice, afraid that Sam might overhear her. She doesn't know where the youngest Winchester went—she thinks maybe he went to go call a few of his contacts—but she also understands what he refuses to admit. "Sam is too sick to go and you need to stay here with him."

The cerulean eyes widen, almost comically, "You can't go alone."

"I just need you to teleport me like ten feet away from the entrance and then I'd—"

Castiel is shaking his head now, his grip on her shoulder tightening, "Charlie, no, that's—"

"I have to do this." She interrupts once more. "I'm the only one who can." She forces a tight grin onto her lips, trying to make the angel see her point. "We can't wait for help, not with Dean's life on the line. Like it or not, this is all we've got—"

"It's a suicide mission." Another voice speaks up and Charlie curses her bad luck before turning around to see Sam leaning in the doorway. He's pale, his hair stuck to his forehead from his raging fever and it's like he needs the doorway to support his own weight.

"Sam—" She starts, but it's clear from the way the youngest Winchester narrows his gaze that he will be deaf to her pleading.

"That isn't a plan, Charlie," Sam insists sharply and it's odd, she's never seen Sam angry before but it's clear that's what he is, quietly raging and she wishes she could ease his pain somewhat. "You'd get yourself killed before you'd even get to Dean."

"I have to try!" The redhead shouts, the desperation coloring every shaky syllable. "Sam, what other choice do we have?"

"I'm going." Sam replies simply.

Castiel moves to the youngest Winchester and places two fingers on his forehead. A blinding light flickers in the room for a few seconds before fading. Grimacing, the angel begins, "Sam, your illness—"

"I'm fine." He growls.

"You can barely stand!" Charlie retorts.

His glare intensifies, but he doesn't contradict her. Sensing an opening, she continues, "Sam, I know, I'm not exactly a hunter—"

"You aren't a hunter, Charlie," The younger brother points out, "Crowley is the King of Hell and you're what? The Queen of Kansas? Pretty sure Demon King of Hell trumps that." He's being cruel now, and it stings, but she knows him, knows why he's saying this.

So she won't go and risk herself. Which is stupid, because she knows as much as he knows, that him going won't end any better. It has to be her. It just has to be that way, as crappy as that sounds.

What other choice do they have?

"Sam, just think about this," She pleads, her voice quiet as she steps towards him, a soft smile gracing her lips. "It makes sense."

"You'll die, Charlie." Sam tells her, his breath leaving him suddenly as his knees buckle and she reaches out for him and together, they both sink to the floor. His chest is heaving, like he can't get enough air and she glances up helplessly at Castiel, like the angel can make things better.

He can't. That's just one of their problems.

"You'll die," Sam repeats, voice barely above a whisper. "And I . . . I can't have your corpse on my conscience."

She's not afraid to die.

Up until a year ago, all she had been doing was surviving. Getting enough money to get what she needed, living out all her fantasies in games rather than trying to make them come true—she'd been avoiding her pain and trying to just exist.

When the Winchesters barreled into her life, that existence changed into living. If dying means making sure they can stay alive and helping others, than she's prepared to do that. Does that mean she wants to die? Of course not, but she's come to terms with the fact that knowing the boys might be the death of her.

But, like all the heroes she'd grown up admiring, she knows that's a sacrifice she's willing to make.

"Just give me a night," Sam tells her, gripping her hand now, eyes wide, voice desperate. "I'll come up with something. Just give me a night."

She can't refuse him.

"Sure, Sam," She beams, "One night."

And as she sits there, on the floor with him, she knows she's already made up her mind.

Tomorrow morning, she will go save Dean, even if it kills her.

* * *

Except, it seems that she's already been beaten to the punch.

She finds Castiel unconscious in the kitchen and a note left on the dining room table that sends her stomach plummeting.

 _I'll bring him back._

By the time the angel has finally roused, Charlie knows Sam's already got too much of a head start on her. She won't be able to stop him and now, all she can do is wait.

Wait and pray for a happy ending.

Castiel sits in a chair, his eyes closed, listening and waiting for any cries of help, but it's silent. It's been eight hours since Sam left and she can't help but fear the worst. Hunter or not, Sam is sick and that illness had to be hindering him somewhat.

What if she loses both of them?

By the time night falls, she knows that Sam won't be coming back.

"He's been captured," Castiel confirms shortly after midnight. "He's alive, but I'm not sure what state he or Dean is in."

She focuses on the important part—they're both alive—and tries to reassure herself that whatever state they're in, she'll fix them both up. She just has to rescue them first.

"New plan," She announces, turning to the angel, "Tomorrow, we're busting them out." She doesn't give him a chance to argue before saying, "Okay?"

Castiel just nods his head.

"It's settled then."

She's probably going to die tomorrow, but if it saves the boys, she can take comfort in that.

Besides, isn't that what heroes did? Now she would finally get to fulfill her dream of becoming a worthy hero. She's go rescue the two "damsels-in-distress" before beating the bad guy.

And while she may not get her happy ending, the boys would and that's all that would matter.

* * *

— _Now_

She isn't exactly sure why she isn't dead yet.

Her blood covers the ground and she's pretty sure one of her lungs has been punctured by one of the numerous blades that Crowley has stabbed her with, yet she's still conscious, let alone alive.

Her head is foggy, her eyes are drooping and all she can feel is pain. Her body screams out from being chained to this vertical operating table and her wrists burn from the too-tight cuffs. The taste of copper fills her mouth each time she tries to suck in oxygen.

"Come now, love," Crowley coos before her, a blade in his hand. "Don't fall asleep on me now. Wouldn't be nice of you, would it?" His grin is sinister and it sends shivers down her spine. His eyes are black voids and she gets now why Sam warned her about him. "You did manage to take away my toys, didn't you? Sam and Dean are more fun, but you'll make a good substitute, I think."

Without any further prelude, he jabs the blade into her side and she gasps as the electric current of agony zings through her.

A dark part of her thinks death will be a relief. The other part of her urges for her to fight. The majority of her concludes that she's exhausted.

"Stay with me now," Crowley teases, removing the blade, "I haven't hit anything vital yet. Can't go to sleep yet."

But she can feel her life leaving her with every drop of blood that hits the floor and if she had any more energy, she'd feel sad or concerned or something other than numb, but she's exhausted.

Almost blissfully, she falls into the welcoming dark abyss.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _So, three more chapters left I think. Next chapter, the rescue mission goes awry. I'd love to hear what you guys thought. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


	5. Chapter 4: Plans

_**Author's Note:**_ _So, just a heads up that I have a poll running on my homepage as I'm trying to decide what types of stories to write more of. If you like hurt!Charlie stories, that is an option, so feel free to vote for it. Now, back to this story!_

* * *

" _It's only in fairy tales that princesses can afford to wait for the handsome prince to save them. In real life, they have to bust out of their own coffins and do the saving themselves."_

― _Meg Cabot_

* * *

— _Then_

Charlie's never been so sure of her fate before.

This morning, in just a few hours, she is going to die. She can feel it in her bones, the fear settling into her veins and then slowly giving way to acceptance. This is her fate and though part of her wishes to flee, she knows she cannot.

After all, she has to save them. It's the least she can do. What the Winchesters have given her—a sense of belonging for the first time in years—this is how she can finally show them how much she cares.

As she pulls on her best pair of black running pants and shimmies into her comfortable, well worn, faded Avengers t-shirt, she can't help but catch her pale reflection in the chipped mirror across from her. In hindsight, it's probably not the most typical outfit that one might choose to sneak into the evil lair of the King of Hell, but it's the one she feels most comfortable in. She draws comfort and strength from her favorite characters—sometimes, all she needs to do is close her eyes and imagine she isn't alone to be able to conquer whatever task she has to accomplish that day. Today, she hopes it will give her the courage she needs to accomplish this plan.

"This is ill-advised." Castiel had told her last night with a grimace. The angel folded his arms across his chest as he leaned against the wall and took a moment to digest her plan.

"I know," Charlie murmured, resting her head on her pulled up knees. Her legs were pressed to her chest and she was almost in a fetal position, afraid to move lest she fall off her chair and into the unknown. Raising her voice though, she adds, "But it's the only plan we've got."

"I could distract Crowley—"

"The wards," Charlie interjected sharply. "You said they affected you too much. Your strength won't be enough to face down Crowley. You need to conserve it and rescue the boys—"

"And you?" Castiel pressed, moving closer to her. Kneeling, he met her gaze, his warm hand resting on her shoulder. "Charlie, you could be killed—"

"It's okay." She dismissed his concern, but the angel's grip tightened on her, strong enough to leave a bruise.

"Losing you would be unacceptable."

"No," She replied softly. "Losing Sam and Dean is unacceptable." Then, plastering a tired grin on her lips, she forced herself to add, "Castiel, I know what I'm doing."

The angel took a few moments to process this before saying, "They would not want you to sacrifice yourself for them."

Moving her head to rest on her arm, she stared up at him through the strands of hair that obscured her vision, "If the roles were reversed, they would do it for me."

He hadn't dared to argue—they both had known it was true.

"Relax, Cas," She beamed, voice barely above a whisper, "It's going to be okay."

But now, as Charlie glances at herself once more, she knows it won't be okay. She's going to die here. She knows this is a suicide mission. She has no experience in fighting demons, but she can at least buy Castiel enough time to find the boys and get them to safety.

For Sam and Dean, she can manage to do that.

"Charlie." Castiel stands in the doorway, a grimace once more tugging his lips downwards. He so serious, this angel. It almost makes her want to laugh hysterically and try to get him to show some sort of other emotion. Maybe, if she's given more time with him, she'll try—

No. It's best not to think like that.

Her time is up.

Checking to make sure her weapons are stored in her pockets, she faces him once more, "I'm ready."

Castiel, for his part, looks like he wants to protest. His lips open before snapping shut once more. His hands clench at his side and she's touched by his concern, but she can tell that he knows that this is their only option. If Castiel went alone, the wards would weaken him too much to be able to safely reach Sam and Dean undetected. Charlie needs to serve as the bait. She has to.

"Charlie—"

She takes his hand within hers and squeezes it.

"Let's go."

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

When she opens them again, she's standing in front of the warehouse that Crowley has set up shop in. She nods to herself, going over the plan once more in her head. She needs to create a distraction and stay alive long enough for Castiel to get the boys out. Then, once the boys were out of danger, the angel would return for her.

If she's still alive, her mind adds darkly.

"Charlie," Castiel still has her hand in a death grip; his cerulean eyes draw her into their abyss and she wonders if that's a special power of his. "Be safe."

"Yeah," Charlie manages to say in a shaky voice, "You too."

And then, before she can have any second thoughts, she turns away from him and heads towards the doors.

* * *

— _Now_

Charlie's so cold, but she doesn't have the energy to shiver.

Somehow, she's ended up on the floor, lying in a puddle of what must be her own blood. It sticks to her shirt, staining it forever and it's a shame, because she wore this shirt the day the first Avengers movie came out and she'd been so excited to see all her favorite heroes come to life on the silver screen.

Her body aches. Her head throbs. Her breath comes in spasms. What had she'd been thinking about? What is she doing here on the floor? Why can't she remember?

She can hear footsteps echo around her. Someone is coming and she should try to move, try to do something, but she's so, so tired and her brain is in a fog. If she is going to die here, just let it come.

She feels herself being lifted and she winces, as her bones seem to crack and break under this new touch. It hurts and she's barely hanging on to consciousness as she begins to move.

"Sorry, Charlie," A muffled voice tells her and she tries to see who her rescuer is, but her vision is so blurry. "Just stay with me, okay?"

She would, but her body has other plans and before she knows it, she can't see or hear anything.

It's a relief to go back to sleep.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Next chapter, we'll finally get caught up to where we started at! Probably two more chapters left. Please review if you have a moment._


	6. Chapter 5: Fading Fast

_**Author's Note:**_ _We're approaching the end of this story! I wanted to say thank you all for the support. I really love writing about Charlie and I'm glad to see other people like reading about her. Please enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

" _Life is for the living._

 _Death is for the dead._

 _Let life be like music._

 _And death a note unsaid."_

― _Langston Hughes_

* * *

— _Now_

Pain is her only constant companion.

Well, that and the cold that seems to seep into her very bones, grounding her, making her feel like she is full of cement. Darkly, almost hysterically, she realizes that with all the blood that she's lost she's barely got anything in her. Her whole life is splattered all over the floor.

And she is alone once more.

She woke up alone, tucked away behind some huge shipping containers, Dean's well-worn leather jacket is draped over her and Sam's plaid shirt is tucked underneath her head. They both smell of gun smoke and a sweat, a somewhat comforting, familiar smell.

There is no sound in the warehouse. She can't figure out if that's reassuring or not. Is Crowley gone? Are the boys and Castiel safe? She should get up and find them before it's too late—

"Fuck!" She swears as a searing pain encompasses her as she tries to sit up. Blood drips through her fingertips and she realizes that she just made a fatal error. Her body falls backwards, her head thudding against the shirt.

See, this is what the books left out. Dying is a long, painful, arduous process. There is no graceful fading away, no chance for a fond farewell. Chances are, she will die here—alone and cold—on this warehouse floor. She'll never see her boys again. She'll never get to introduce Castiel to all her favorite television shows. No Netflix binge-a-thons for any of them.

All that remains of her is her blood on the floor and her slowing heartbeat.

A tear rolls down her cheek and she would move to wipe it away but her energy is gone and she's drifting once more into—

Darkness.

* * *

— _Then_

Sneaking in is actually easier than she anticipated.

It turns out that demons are pretty sucky at standing guard. The two dummies at the main entrance were busy on their phones—and isn't that a sight to behold, demons surfing the web on their iPhones?—and she was able to slip past them and into the main entrance pretty easily. As she ducks around a corner, she hears another demon gossiping to her companion.

"Yes, those Winchesters! Boss captured them and said he plans on torturing them for a while now before killing them. I told him that probably killing them first was a better plan, but what do I know?" The clicking of high heels signals the demon's exit and Charlie does her best to calm her pounding heart.

The boys are alive—that's what matters. Whatever state they're in, she and Castiel will be able to deal with. As long as the two of them survive, that's all she cares about.

"And who are you?" A voice snarls and she spins around, tossing all of her holy water at the demon. He screams in agony and she quickly stabs him with the blade Castiel had given her. He falls to the floor, face slack and she doesn't have time to process just how violent that was before she hears footsteps down the hall.

Charlie runs.

* * *

Serving as a distraction is both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

Leading the demons on endless chases down the twisting halls is a lot like the mice who go through the mazes to get the cheese, only this time, Charlie isn't sure if she's the scientist conducting the experiment or the cheese. She doesn't want to find out.

Catching her breath, she hides behind a shipping container and does her best not to give her location away.

"Where did she go?" One of her pursuers hisses.

"If we don't find her, the Boss will have our heads!"

"Keep looking you morons, she couldn't have gone far. How much trouble can one measly human cause?"

"Uh, you know the Winchesters are just two humans right? And look at how much—"

"Just find her!"

Footsteps scurry away and after a few moments of silence, Charlie allows her head to poke out from the shipping container. She's safe and alone for once. She isn't sure how long she needs to keep up this chase—she's hoping Castiel will come and get her when the boys are safe—but she's pleasantly surprised by how well she's doing. Maybe being a hunter isn't so hard at all—

A cold hand grips her arm painfully and she finds herself being slammed into the metal shipping container, her head hitting it with a resounding thud. The room spins around her and it takes her two seconds too many to grab her weapon. It clatters to the floor and she can't get it.

"You little bitch," The demon that stands before her is glaring at her with coal black eyes and it feels like he could snap all the bones in her arm if he wanted to, "You think you can fuck with us? You're going to die!"

She breaks free of his grasp and dives for the dagger and rams it into his chest. He reaches for it and yanks it out, snapping the blade. He staggers towards her and Charlie jumps back, unsure of what the best strategy is now that her weapon is destroyed. Reaching for the last of her holy water, she tosses it at him before turning around and running. She's not sure if that will finish him off or not, but she can't stay there to find out.

She has to keep moving.

* * *

After what feels like a small eternity, Charlie finally feels confident that no one else is chasing after her. Ducking into this small room off the main hallway had been a risky move, but one that served her well. She couldn't hear any angry shouts or frantic footsteps.

She's safe.

"That was close," She chuckles nervously to herself. "Like way too close." Glancing up at the ceiling she closes her eyes and begins to pray, "Castiel, please tell me the boys are safe—"

Surely enough time has passed that the three of them had made it out okay, right? But if that was the case, why hadn't they come back for her? What if Castiel had gotten hurt? What if the boys were dead? What if—

"No." She chides herself sharply. She can't go down that rabbit hole. She has to believe in the plan and trust that things will work out.

"Well, well, well," A smooth accented voice comments, and Charlie nearly jumps from the shock, "You must be the little rat who's snuck into my house."

Just one glance of his cold, calculating visage and his dark suit and she knows exactly who he is.

"You must be Crowley." She deduces, trying not to let the panic within her show. She must maintain control of this situation. She's got to keep him talking. If she can do that, she might be able to make it out of here.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," He saunters towards her, his lips turning upwards in a predatory smirk. "I don't know your name."

"I'm the Queen of Kansas." It's the first thing that pops into her head and the demon king actually stops in his tracks, confusion etched in his features.

"A queen?" He repeats.

"Yeah," Charlie replies quickly. "Totally a queen. And I can see that I'm in the wrong kingdom so if you don't mind I'll just—" She turns to leave, but the door that she used to enter this room is locked and as much as tugs on it, it won't budge.

"You're not going anywhere," He smirks before adding, "Charlie." Then, at her somewhat perplexed expression he continues, "Yes, I know who you are. I make sure to keep track of the Winchester's friends."

There's an odd sense of peace that washes over her as the reality of her fate sets in. This is how she's supposed to go down. This will be her moment. This will be her last chance to show her boys how much they mean to her.

For them, she's willing to die.

So, standing there, before the King of Hell, Charlie just smiles.

Everything is going to be okay.

"Bring it on, Crowley."

The King of Hell just laughs.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _And we're all caught up in the timeline. Next chapter will be the fallout from everything and you'll find out if Charlie survives. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


	7. Chapter 6: Awakening

_**Author's Note:**_ _This is it, the final chapter! I love writing hurt!Charlie stuff. I'm sure I will write more stories like this one, as well as my usual hurt!Sam fare. I want to take a moment to thank all of you for your continued support! Your reviews always bring a smile to my face. Thanks!_

* * *

" _The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for."_

― _Bob Marley_

* * *

There are voices in the abyss.

Frantic, familiar voices that surround her and if Charlie had the energy, she would try to surface and reassure them. But in the abyss, she feels no pain. She's safe here—from the memories, from the injuries, perhaps even from death. If she can just stay here, would it really be so bad? She's scared of going back to her twisted reality, one in which the King of Hell exists, where her mother and father are dead, and where she is alone in the world—

But, wait, she's not alone is she?

Then, without her consent, she is violently pulled from the abyss, surfacing back in a much too bright reality. Her eyes fly open and she gasps out a breath as the all-encompassing pain once more threatens to consume her.

"Charlie, hey, just relax," Dean's voice is as warm and comforting as a blanket and hot chocolate on a winter day, and she stills somewhat upon seeing his bruised, bloodied, but thankfully still alive visage swim into her line of sight. "There you are. It's going to be okay."

"Sam—?" She starts to ask, but she can't breathe and a cough tears through her, salty liquid soon dotting her lips.

Blood.

She's coughing up blood.

"Sam's fine," Dean places a warm hand on her cheek and forces a smile on his cracked lips. "Focus on you, okay? Just keep breathing." How he can look so healthy after escaping torture is beyond her. Castiel's grace really must work wonders—

"S'cold." Her own voice is foreign, too weak, too breathy to really be hers.

"Charlie, hey, stay with me here," He presses sharply on her shoulder and she jolts back into awareness. Dean's gaze is apologetic, but she can see the fear he's trying to hide swimming around in her eyes. "You can't give up on me, okay? Who's going to discuss those nerdy fantasy books with Sam?"

She manages to huff out a laugh, but once more, it dissolves into a coughing fit. She squeezes Dean's hand, trying to ground herself in the moment. She needs to hang on, needs to keep fighting. The boys need her. And she . . . she really needs them.

An explosion rocks her eardrums and Dean's loud curse echoes around her.

"Sam!" Dean shouts and soon, the youngest Winchester is there. Had he been there all along? She's missing too much already, she realizes, drifting in and out of consciousness. If she lets go one more time, she might not make it back.

It's done," Sam tells his brother, "Castiel is coming, but we've got to go."

Dean spares her a glance, his voice lowering, "I don't know if we can move her—"

"If we don't, we're all going to get surrounded by a horde of pissed off demons—"

She gets it then, what they are risking for her. She grins, the pain fading away slowly as the realization of how much she is loved sinks in. Her boys . . . they gave her so much. If she can just convey to them how she feels somehow, she can die in peace.

"Go." She orders softly, voice barely above a whisper. She reaches a bloody hand towards them and places it on Sam's wrist, gripping it somewhat.

"What?" Dean asks, but she's knows he's smarter than that; she can see the gears turning in his mind, processing the repercussions of her demand.

"Charlie, no," Sam shakes his head, his hand now coming to rest on top of hers, "We're not leaving you."

"But Crowley—" She weakly protests.

"We've faced worse odds." Dean winks at her and she wonders if the bravado is all for her sake. She doesn't think so.

There are distant shouts from somewhere in the compound and Dean and Sam share a glance that speaks volumes. Then, with a grimace, Dean reaches for her, "This is going to hurt."

It feels like lava has been poured into her veins and before she can even utter one syllable of a curse, she mercifully blacks out.

* * *

In the dark, her body drifts down through the endless abyss. It's almost like she's sinking into a lake or the ocean, but she isn't afraid to drown. It feels so peaceful, so right and she is so very tired. Drifting might be good for her.

 _Sam. Dean. Did I help you at all?_

It's cold here and vast, but it's better than the pain that she left. She'd give anything to be spared that kind of agony.

 _I love you two._

And in the dark, someone whispers her name.

* * *

The first thing she is aware of is a dull ache that seems to encompass her entire body. The second is the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor and as she struggles against the invisible weight keeping her eyes shut. The third, and perhaps most important, is the sound of soft snoring.

She smiles.

"Miss Bradbury?"

She tries to turn her head, but her body is locked it seems. Her heart rate spikes and she feels someone squeeze her hand.

"Charlie, it's okay," Sam soothes her, "You've been sedated. Just hold on."

"Miss Bradbury, I'm going to remove your breathing tube, okay? Just relax."

She hadn't even realized that there had been a tube down her throat, though now that it's been mentioned, she is now acutely aware of it. She does her best not to panic as they pull the tube out of her mouth and once it's gone, she struggles to catch her breath.

"Charlie, open your eyes, kiddo." Dean coaches.

After much effort, she does so. The room is brightly lit and she has to squint to get used to it, but as soon as her eyes adjust, she beams as she spies Sam and Dean, both bandaged up but alive.

"Hey." She manages to say, her throat as dry as sandpaper and raw from the tube being removed.

"Here." Sam hands her a glass of water and she cautiously takes a sip.

"Thanks." She murmurs.

The nurse by her bedside is what she would consider a matron with greying roots and a firm gaze, but the grin gracing her lips warms Charlie's heart. As the nurse glances over her chart, she beams, "Welcome back to the land of the living. Your brothers were concerned about you."

"How long have I been out?" Charlie questions, letting the brother remark go for now. It would explain how they got into her hospital room, regulations and all that.

"About two weeks." The nurse explains quickly, "You were in a bad accident. You needed a lot of surgery. To be honest, it was touch and go for a while there. You lost a lot of blood." She grins, placing a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "But just rest now. It's going to be okay."

"Thanks."

"Let me know if you need anything. The doctor will be by to see you shortly." With that, the nurse leaves and Charlie finally can speak to her boys.

"Two weeks, huh?" She questions and judging from both of the boys' five o'clock shadow, they haven't left. "Are you two okay? Crowley—"

"Castiel healed most of the injuries," Sam explains quickly, "These are nothing really."

"Really?" She presses, her gaze narrowing. "Tell me the truth."

"Truth is you got it a lot worse than we did," Dean replies softly, "Crowley was more interested in bragging than he was in actual torture."

She doesn't buy it, not for one second.

"Sam, you're okay too?" She checks him once more, the tell tale signs of illness still on his face. Judging from the color of his cheeks, he's still running a fever. He's in pain still and he's probably been neglecting his care to be by her side—both of them have—and she doesn't know what she did to deserve this.

That day they barreled into her life, it changed her for the better.

"We're both good, Charlie," Sam grins at her, squeezing her hand, "Just glad you're back."

"And Castiel?"

"He's just tying up a few loose ends. He'll be back to see you soon."

She leans back fully onto her pillow, suddenly exhausted from the conversation. She's alive and so are her boys. Castiel is safe. She helped defeat the bad guys and triumphed over evil.

And she's alive.

After being so ready for death, to be spared and back with her boys is overwhelming. As the memories come flooding back in her mind, her body shakes with sobs. She's alive and so is everyone she cares about.

She made it.

She got to be the hero and lived to tell the tale.

"Easy." Dean wraps his arms around her.

"It's all okay, Charlie." Sam rubs comforting circles on her back.

And sure, she doesn't know what tomorrow will bring. Crowley will be back, out for blood and vengeance. More enemies will come and she might lose this makeshift family to a hunt gone wrong or just a sheer accident. One thing that she's learned is that life is fleeting. She's got to savor the moments she does have.

"I love you two." She sobs.

"We know." Dean replies.

In their embrace, she lets herself fall asleep, safe in the knowledge that she's no longer alone.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _So, I'm marking this as complete for now, but I have a short epilogue if anyone is interested. Let me know and I'll post it. If not, that's the end! This was such a fun story! I love writing Charlie and hurt!Charlie with the boys treating her like a little sister is one of my favorite things to write. Thank you all so much for your support! If you have a moment, please review._


	8. Epilogue: Home

_**Author's Note:**_ _Okay, okay, here is the epilogue. I've been asked if there will be a sequel to this story. The truth is that I currently do not have plans for any sequels, but you never know. I definitely will be writing other hurt!Charlie stories so please stay tuned for that. Without further ado, here is the epilogue. Please enjoy!_

* * *

" _I am hopeful, though not full of hope, and the only reason I don't believe in happy endings is because I don't believe in endings."_

― _Edward Abbey_

* * *

Two weeks later and Charlie is out of the hospital and resting comfortably in the bunker with the boys. She'd offered to return to her apartment—after all, the boys rarely left her side during her hospital stay, surely they had to be sick of her by now—but Sam and Dean had quickly shot that idea down.

"You need to stay with someone," Sam pointed out sharply, "Even the doctor said so. You might as well just come home with us."

"But—" She protested vainly from the wheelchair the hospital was forcing her to use.

"It's settled, Charlie." Dean smirked, ruffling her hair as he pushed her just a bit faster to the Impala parked outside.

Which is how she finds herself here, lying on the couch in the living room, listening to Dean sing Metallica off-key as he chopped up celery for his chicken noodle soup. Sam, for his part, is reading some obscure Latin text about the Trials and even Castiel has come to visit, though the angel is a bit too preoccupied with the National Geographic documentary on lions to really comment upon anything.

 _Charlie Bradbury, this is your life._

She smirks somewhat to herself and begins to sit up, only for the angel to swiftly help her.

"I'm okay, Cas," She assures him with a thumbs up, but the angel's expression remains impassive. Placing her hand over his, she squeezes it to emphasize her point, "Really. I am."

Castiel hadn't visited her in the hospital, though she understood why. He blamed himself for what happened to her, which, in Charlie's view, was ridiculous. She had gone willingly to face Crowley and really, even if Castiel hadn't agreed to go through with her plan, she would've just gone alone.

"You are still recovering." Castiel informs her quietly. "You need your rest."

"I'm starting to turn to mush on this couch," She protests, standing up fully, swaying just a bit, an improvement from before, "Besides, the doctor said I needed to get used to moving around—"

Honestly, if she were anyone else, this sort of behavior might be smothering, but she knows it comes from a place of love. Besides, after taking care of herself for so long and being alone for so many years, it feels nice to be taken care of.

To be loved.

She loves them, really. She'd die to protect them, without so much a moment of hesitation. Let Crowley come and try to take them from her. Let the world try to crush her for being with them.

No matter the price, she's prepared to pay it if it means spending one more moment with them.

 _When did you get to be so sappy?_

Her past self would be mortified with her behavior. The old Charlie drifted from place to place, never staying long enough to lay down roots or grow close to people. Back then, she'd been afraid of being hurt, of feeling that crippling pain that came when you lost someone.

But now . . . she's no longer afraid.

Whatever is in store for her down the road, whatever may befall her, let it come.

As long as she has them by her side, she can face it head on.

"Charlie?" Sam has put down his book now and is regarding her with a concerned expression. "What is it? Are you in pain?"

"No," She answers quickly, wiping away a tear she hadn't even realized she'd let fall, "No, I'm fine. I'm just . . ." She beams at them. "Grateful, you know?"

Grateful to be alive, to be spending one more moment with them.

Nodding to herself, she moves towards the kitchen counter and stands next to Dean. Gazing at the pile of carrots on the counter, she reaches for one and quickly pops it into her mouth before Dean can complain.

"Dinner will be ready soon." He tells her instead, chuckling at her amused expression.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Besides not eating the rest of my ingredients?"

She scoffs, "Besides that."

"Here." He hands her a knife and points towards a stalk of celery. "Start cutting."

And with a smile on her face, she starts doing just that.

She is home at last.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _The end. For real, this time! Thank you all so much for your support!_


End file.
